


His Best Girl

by Behind_Blue_Eyes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Behind_Blue_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Without a question—she’s the one.  I knew it the minute I lay eyes on her that my search is over.  I long to slip inside her, to feel her surround me and take me places I’ve never been.  The time is now.  My wait is over."</i>
</p>
<p>Through the years: Spike and His Best Girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This was in response to a Elysian Fields' Challenge by Laurence Quill.
> 
> Challenge requisites will be posted at the end of the last chapter. 
> 
> Major thanks to my amazing beta, ETRAYTIN. I can't tell you how much her help and guidance means to me.

 

_Summer, 1997—Boston_

 

Without a question—she’s the one.  I knew it the minute I lay eyes on her that my search is over.  But she’s not like the others…oh, no.  She’s not one to be taken by force.  She is a classic beauty, and as such, she needs to be courted.  Requires certain finesse, a tender touch, this one.  And under the cover of night, my approach is gentler, more refined as our dance begins.  

She’s far more stunning up close and personal.  The beams of moonlight cast shadows that play across the slopes and curves of her body.  After I drink her beauty in, I finally allow myself to touch her.  When I run my hand down her side I feel, even at rest, the sheer power of her.  There is an instant rush.  I long to slip inside her, to feel her surround me and take me places I’ve never been.  The time is now.  My wait is over.

“It will only hurt for a moment.”  I comfort her with another feather-light caress before I use my peculiar abilities to make her mine…forever.

My anticipation grows as we travel back to Drusilla.  Yes, it’s true.  I’m smitten with the novelty of my new girl, but I try to remind myself she’s just the means to an end.  She’s a vehicle to move us closer to Drusilla’s healing.  To restore her former glory, so she’s no longer a princess trapped in a tower of weakness and frailty.  My new girl will bring my beloved to the blood that will heal her.  

_Now for introductions_ …    

“Out with the old, in with the new.”  Drusilla hisses, her eyes flashing gold as she stalks forward, talons ready to strike.  “An iron maiden for a princess.  Locked away in a trunk, to be forever forgotten I am.”

“Never, my love,” I insist. “She is but a means to right all the wrongs.  You are my only forever.”

I gently clasp Dru’s sinewy limb and lower it to my lips.  I try to placate her with whisper praises and kisses along her cool skin.  But even in Dru’s weakened state, she easily rips her arm away from my touch.  I see the storm rage in her eyes, an exquisite malevolence of wild brutality.   

“Lies!  You’ve plucked the wings and taken fire’s flight all for your own.  Me, she and thee, off to the fiery mouth for the most delicious lies and such bitter truths.” Drusilla cants her head to the side.  It’s as if she hears something or some _one_ I can’t.  Pixies or moonbeams or some such.  Then as quickly as it starts, the storm passes.  

She steps closer to me, and I instantly melt into the hand that now lovingly cradles my cheek.  “Poor, poor, William.  Always seeks solace in the darkest maidens that don’t hear.  Don’t listen.  Only run and roar.”         

Drusilla hand drops away and she begins a sway of lacy decadence.  “Your midnight mistress will be our cucking-stool, our very own tumbrel.  In her embrace, we follow the piper’s song.”  Drusilla bruxes noisily as she moves her mouth closer and closer to mine.  Just before she reaches my lips, she bites at the air then pulls away with a wicked smile.  “The once-weak will turn strong and the strong, weak.   Such lovely confusion.”  

This sums up our whole conversation, confusion.  But this isn’t a surprise. Drusilla’s mind, a Gordian’s knot of past and future, rarely untangles, and even less often provides meaningful insight to the present.  Yet going by the now starry quality of her once stormy eyes, I believe the tide is turning.  Dru’s in brighter spirits and it’s best to take advantage.  I hold out my hand to her.

“Ready my love?  It’s time.”   


	2. One Cachaca, Two Cachaca, Three Cachaca More

_1998—Brazil, South America_

 

“A. Soddin’. Chaos. Demon!”  

I scream this at the top of my dead lungs.  No matter how many times I turn Dru’s newest exploit over and over in my head, or even go as far as to say this out loud, it doesn’t seem to make it any more real.  This has to be some sort of a bleedin’ nightmare.  Well, a nightmare minus visions of death and destruction dancin’ in my head.  Or the fact ‘m not sleeping.  

_Details, details_

“You saw the bugger, right?  All slime and antlers, yet it's me wearing the horns of the cuckold.”  I scoff from the poetic injustice of it all.  It was either this or cry.  And crying wasn’t Ninoan option.  No way in hell, I’d give that horny fucker the satisfaction.  

With a bump in the road, she slides my liquid comfort closer to me.  “Ta.”  I wedge the _Cachaca_ between my thighs and twist off the cap.  “Cheers.”  I fist the bottle by its slender neck and down half.  It goes down smooth.

“After all I’ve given her.  After over a century, after all I’ve done…I’ve played her dolly, put Ms. Edith to shame, I did.  I’ve played her handmaiden, played her soddin’ whipping boy—” I grin from a particularly juicy memory of a naked Dru wielding a knotted, holy-water-soaked cat-o-nine tails, and how each strand deliciously licked and shredded the flesh from my back.  Then my smile fades just as quickly—“and this is how she ends it?  She couldn’t even be bothered to stake me?”  I feel the tears, but I won’t let them come.  I down the rest of the  _Cachaca_ in one go and pitch the empty bottle out the window.  I love the sound of shattering glass.

“How can she do this to me?  To us?”  My voice catches in my throat.  And here come the bloody tears.  I’m so pathetic.  

I reach out and lovingly run my hand down my girl’s side.  Despite the heat outside, she is still cool to the touch.  I take comfort in this.  “What are we going to do?”  I nearly whisper this last part.  I bite back the rest of my tears as I wait for a response.  My girl purrs louder.  Her plan makes me smile.  

“You’re bloody right, I need to prove myself.  Show Dru I haven’t gone soft.  Prove I still got my fangs and not some soddin’ leashed vamp.  Not like her precious soul-strapped _daddy_.” I think for a moment then a brilliant, fool-proof plan comes to me.  “That’s it.  I’ll bring Dru the slayer’s empty head on a silver platter.”  I sigh from the memories.  “You know how Dru always preferred blondes, especially ones with eyes of green.  Oh how she loves to pluck them from their heads like ripe grapes from a vine.”  

I feel so much better already. “Now, with that settled, let’s toast to me baggin’ my third slayer.”  I lean over to rifle through the litter of fallen bottles for another _Cachaca_.  I search and search and search, but the tell-tale curves of the bottle remains just out of reach.  After a fumbling five minute search, I’d settle for Jack or Jim.  Hell, some bottom shelf gut-rot will do.  But I come up empty.  Not a bloody drop.  

“Oh, balls!”  I feel myself almost instantly sobering up.  And to judge by the steady _thump-thump-thump_ settling behind my eyes, that is a terrible idea.

_Not. Bloody. Likely_

I pull into the car park of the first watering hole I find.  At first glance, I know this is just the place I need—one with cheap booze and, going by the used-up wares on display by the front door, even cheaper _mujerzuelas_.  

No matter. All I need is a warm hole to crawl into, doesn’t matter which one, and their even warmer blood.  It is these thoughts alone that gets my cock hard.  And this is a glorious thing since I haven’t had any stirrings below the belt since Dru flaunted her slimy dalliance and called me weak.  

“Now, just a quick pop in for a suck and fuck, and then we’ll be on our way.”  I tenderly caress her side again in reassurance.  “No worries, you’re still my best girl.”   

With my promise made, I head off.  As I cross the dusty parking lot I ink out my plan for after my belly’s full and cock’s empty.  Me and my girl will crank up the Sex Pistols and hit the Pan-American Highway…Sunnyhell bound.  

_Home sweet home_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cachaca: well-known type of alcohol made in Brazil https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cacha%C3%A7a
> 
> Yes, I know antlers and horns are not interchangeable, but Spike is ranting. He doesn’t have time for accuracy. 
> 
> mujerzuelas=Spanish for slut (at least one of the words used)
> 
>  
> 
> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you.


	3. Copious Amounts of Aperitifs and Digestifs with Not Much in Between

_Fall, 1998—Sunnydale_

 

“Yeah yeah she's the one  
When I see her on the street  
You know she makes my life complete”

I scream my throat raw before I down the rest of whatever is in my grip—Jim, Jack, Jose—hadn’t really mattered at the time, just as long as it smothered and drowned out the pain.  When every last drop is gone, I smash the empty bottle against the pavement.  The sound of breaking glass never gets old.

“Honey, ‘m home!”  I giggle manically as I throw my arms over my girl, trying to touch as much of her as I can at once.  I press my face against her coolness and nuzzle close.  

“Leasht ya love me, dontcha.”  My words slur into an almost nonsensical string of sounds. “Yoush never leave ol’ me, my scheet gir, will ya?”    

At the very least I know this for certain.  I can’t say the same for any other parts of the last two weeks.  It’s all pretty much a blur.   

Endless days on the road, plus copious amounts of aperitifs and digestifs with not much in between besides rancid mouthfuls from drifters and lot lizards, add to this a hefty dose of minimal to no sleep—then take all of this, mix, shaken not stirred—and you’d get the current state I’m in.        

As a somewhat coherent line of thought comes to me, I raise my head up.  My world instantly tilts and spins to the point I almost toss my cookies.  I swallow back hard against a thick lump of blood and booze.  Then I clear my throat and prepare myself to speak.  I straighten my clothes and school my voice back to the culture and refinement of days best forgotten.  Then, as to rival any great satirist, I showcase my wittiness.

“Might you be so kind, Miss, to enlighten me to what state am I in, well, aside the state of inebriation?” 

I laugh.  At first, it’s a gentlemanly chuckle before I really let loose.  My refine titter gives way to big, obnoxious whoops of ‘ha-ha-has’ that ring out into the night.  Then things turn—not for the better.  But I’m too far gone to realize my laughter is now huge slobbering, guttural sobs as the tears fall faster and faster.  I need to ground myself, so I seek solace in my girl.  I drop my head down on her cool body, and soon the area between us quickly slicks up with salt and snot. 

So to recap: Here I am, a Master vamp, standing in the middle of the bloody street, holding onto my girl for dear unlife, bawlin’ like a soddin’ infant.        

“Just stake me now.” 

I slide to the ground in a pathetic heap of worthlessness and flatten myself against the cold ground like a beached starfish.  I feel as such—no longer where I belong, yet I am unable to move or find my way back to the place I was expelled from.  And all around me I can hear the sounds of my past life, a haunting reminder of what I’ve lost.  I close my eyes and will it all away. 

It’s all too much and my body just shuts down and I fall asleep.  Mere minutes or even hours go by, I don’t know exactly how long before the early rustles of the morning pull me out of my dreamless sleep.  I open my eyes and stare at the sky, a swirling picturesque myriad of indigo and pinks, with dustings of brilliant marigold near the horizon.  Taking all this in, I consider staying.  Just let the sun take me.  Make me nothing but a distant memory.  Not that I believe anyone would really care about my departure from this world. 

All might be better off for it. 

While I wallow in my own misery, the sky lightens more and more.  I watch the whispers of the dawn cast shadows that dance and draw my eyes off to my left.  And there, in the dark, is my girl. 

How could ever forget? 

Clearly she hadn’t forgotten me.  Ever vigilant, she hasn’t left my side.  Just as she has been since Brazil—actually, it has been even long before then.  I don’t know how I would’ve survived through all of this without her.  Despite my solo pity-party in full swing, I realize my misery needs no company.  And there’s still one that wants, no needs me here.  I’m the only one who can take care of her.  I can’t leave her.  I will never leave her. 

_Time to grow back a pair, Spike ol’boy, and find us some shelter_  

“’ello, sweet girl.”  I slowly roll to my feet and take a look around where we ended up.  It’s an alley of some sorts and I notice off to my right a line of doors that looks like they belong to several small stores.  The one closest to us has a small sign in eloquent script hanging by its door.  I step forward to get a better look:

_Deliveries for Magic Box—Please Ring Bell—Thank you and Blessed Be_  

Then a brilliant idea comes to me.  I turn towards my girl and gesture to the sign, my smile as wicked as it is wide.  “Well, well.  It seems things are looking up.  Let’s get a little somethin’ special for the _nauseated_ vamp that has it all, shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "She's The One" by the Ramones
> 
> aperitifs: are alcohols one would drink before a meal to stimulate appetite.
> 
> digestifs: are alcohols one would drink after a meal to aide in digestion.
> 
> My reference to the nauseated vamp is referring to the scene during “Lover’s Walk” when Spike is spying on Angel. The book Angel is reading by the fire is the originally published French edition of La Nausée (Nausea) by Jean-Paul Sartre. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nausea_(novel) 
> 
>  
> 
> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts.


	4. My Happy Meal's Missing its Toy Surprise

 

_Fall, 1999—UC Sunnydale_

 

“Look at them all.”  My stomach growls from all the lovelies on display.  With their slender necks and naiveté to all that goes bump in the night, it’s a delicious sight.  It’s a variety pack, something to satisfy nearly every one of my blood-soaked dreams.  My fangs itch as I take in all these tender prospects.  “Mm…so many to choose from.   _Eeeny meeny miny_ …"

Off in the distance, I spy with my lil’ eye a particularly delectable co-ed—the slayer.  She’s with her red-headed witch sidekick, and they both seem to be oblivious to anything going on around them, busy chatting excitedly.  They’re so preoccupied, they don’t spare so much as a glance for yours truly.  I watch without restriction.  Without reluctance.  I can’t seem to get enough of her.  She mesmerizes me.  With every sway of her slender hips I fall deeper and deeper under her thrall.  

I drink her in for a moment longer, then decide it’s time to make my move.  I pull into a nearby car park and watch in the rearview mirror as they pass us by.  I must admit, the bitch is just as alluring coming as she is going.  Gets my engine revving, that one.  I crave another taste.

I run my hand lovingly over the swell of my girl’s leather covered seat and tell her my plan.  “Now, be a good girl and wait here.  ‘M gonna head up there—” I nod toward the highest point on campus—“to get a lay of the land.  Then I’ll find myself some petite blonde.  Kill two birds with one fang… cause while ‘m gettin’ myself a sweet nip of young blood, her screams and struggles will call the slayer out to play.  And she _will_ come.  Our dance ends tonight.”  

My girl’s idle for a moment, then purrs in agreement.  With a final caress down her side and a loving parting glance, I take leave of my girl. The slayer will finally be mine.  Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts.


	5. For All That's Unholy...She's French

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to stress this chapter is not to offend those who are or associate with and/or to the French or the Irish by any means. This is only meant to entertain. Please keep this in mind while you read.
> 
>  
> 
> And before you go, many many thanks to my beta ETRAYTIN, for helping me whip this into shape and just for her overall amazingness!

_Winter, 2000—Sunnydale_

 

Over the last hour or so, my girl and I have been in, one might say, a slight _disagreement_.  I can’t say how it all started.  But what I can say is that right now I want to hightail it outta here and get us to the nearest shelter before Mr. Sun scorches me a new one.  My girl, on the other hand, has other plans. She’s not going anywhere.  

Okay, that’s not true.  I know what started this.  

I was with another girl.  

Don’t rightly know how my girl knows, but she does. But in my defense, the minute our time together was through, the chit had already been forgotten, a bleedin’ footnote in my memories.  And, might I add, she’s another bloke’s girl, and me taking her for a ride hadn’t been out of choice but out of pure necessity.  Well, it’s not like it matters now, since there isn’t much left of that wretched lil’ tart after our little _incident_.  But that’s his problem.  Not mine. So the way I figure, it’d be best for all of this to be forgotten.     

Well, clearly that’s not gonna happen.  My girl’s mightily pissed off and I’m getting nothing from her but a lingering whine and her refusal to budge.  I try my best to coax her, but it doesn’t take too long to realize this is getting us nowhere fast. I try a different approach.  We need to clear the air.  Get this little ‘thing’ between us sorted once and for all, and be done with it.

Now, if a century’s worth of experience with a fickle vampiress has taught me anything, is that I need to tread lightly here.  My girl has to be handled with kid gloves so to speak.  So I quickly ink out a plan.  It’s simple: I need to man, or more accurately, vamp up and nip this in the proverbial bud before things get blown way out of proportion and go on any longer than necessary—which it has already in my opinion, but I won’t even go there.

I decide to make my move.  

“I don’t see why you’re so angry, love.  She has nothing on you, you know that.” Yeah, I can tell my girl isn’t buying this, not so easily placated this time.  So I try another approach, build my girl up while I tear the other one down.  “Look, she’s not even worth a second go.  A piss-poor ride, that one.”  Yeah, still a bust.  I’m quickly losing patience here and it shows.  “Oh, come on!  For all that’s unholy, she’s French!  You know what I think about the French.  They’re barely a step above the Irish.  And you bloody well _know_ my thoughts about those Micks.  Now quit your silly games and let’s get the hell outta here.”

This time when I try again, she flat out refuses to turn over and she lets me know what she thinks with one long drawn out screech.  Now I’m getting pissed.  Fine, she wants to play it this way, then we’ll play.  We didn’t need to go there, but there she went, so I followed and now here we are.  A soddin’ blind man can see what she’s up to and ‘m not letting _that_ happen.  Over my dead body!  I’m in charge here.  I own her!  I made her what she is today, and she clearly needs to be reminded of that.

“Listen here you foolish girl!  We need to leave, now!  So stop being so bleedin’ stubborn.  It’d be best for you to remember who calls the shots ‘round here.  Me.  Not you.  Got that?”  

Yeah, my whole I’m-in-charge-you-best-toe-the-line spiel went over like a lead balloon.  Clearly it had the opposite effect than what I was going for.  ‘Cause this time around when I try to get her to go, she gives me nothing. No movement, not a sound. Nothing but dead silence.  And this is the first time since our lil’ row began, I feel something other than annoyance—truth be told, I feel all and out panic.  

At the beginning of all of this, I thought this was her way to try and prove a point. Clearly not one well received by me on my end, but a point nonetheless.  But now I worry there’s actually more going on with her.  That something’s truly wrong.  Very wrong.

As we sit here, with the silence an intrusive third party, I start to reconsider what I’ve done.  

My girl has been with me for years.  She has had my back, given me support and has sheltered me without question.  Even during my darkest hours, she has been there for me.  But this time I’ve taken things too far.  I’ve been selfish and I’ve betrayed her.  She’s the only thing that has made my unlife worth a damn as of late and I haven’t taken the time or have told her just how much she truly means to me. Well, that’s gonna change.  Right. Now.  

This time when I find my voice, I use the words that I usually keep hidden deep inside.  As I speak them to her, it is done, not to earn her forgiveness but because she needs to know how I feel about her.  

“My sweet girl, I promise you, I never meant to hurt or disrespect you, which clearly I’ve done.  For this I am truly sorry.”  I lovingly caress her side as I go on.  “You’re my girl.  Please give me the chance to right my wrong.”

It will be dawn soon.  But that doesn’t matter.  I won’t leave her alone.  I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable.  Then something deep inside tells me to try and reach out to her one last time.  

“Please, come back to me.”  

This time she responds.  My undead heart swells as she roars to life.  This is the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in ages.  And now that she has come back to me, I will never take my girl for granted again.  Right then and there, I make a vow to her, a promise that I intend to keep—

“Never again, my best girl.  Never again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you.


	6. The Key to My Heart

_Winter, 2001-Restfield Cemetery_

 

“Since you’ve been comin’ round quite a lot lately Bit, I think it’s ‘bout time you and the other girl in my unlife meet.”  I stand between them and offer up introductions.  “Dawn…my best girl…my best girl…this is Dawn.”

“Um, hi?”  Dawn’s eyes go from my girl then to me.  “Spike, this is majorly weird, she’s—”

“My best girl.” 

I try to stop Dawn from going any further with a quirk of my brow.  Gratefully, she catches my drift.  I pull Dawn aside, then lean slightly closer and whisper all conspiracy-like in her ear, “Well, you see, that title really belongs to you now, but let’s not let _her_ in on that.  She tends to get a tad…jealous.”

Eyes wide, Dawn whispers back, “Her name’s not _Christine_ , right?” 

I throw her a smirk and her eyes grow wider, but then I decide to stop teasing and shake my head no.  I’m so whipped.

“Okay, good.”  Dawn gives my girl a smile.  “It’s nice to meet you.  Like Spike said, I’m Dawn, his _friend_.” 

I can tell Dawn is doing this to appease me, which I appreciate. Immensely.  Hell knows I don’t need my girl to throw another fit and decide she doesn’t want to do what she must—especially now with a Hell God jonesing to play locksmith, by slippin’ my Niblet in some sort of mystical lock and giving her a sharp turn.  All that matters right now is keeping her safe as houses—by any means necessary.

After introductions, the silence between us lingers and I can tell something’s weighing heavily on Dawn’s mind.  She’s been having a rough go of it, since, well since she’s been born, or made, or what-have-you.  Not that how she came to be or why she’s here really matters.  All that does, is who she is—Dawn.  Dawnie.  Niblet.  Bit.  _Mine_.

“Why the long face?”

“It’s nothing...”  Dawn turns away from me and my girl.  At first I think she’s just being a brat, then I smell the tears.  I let her have the space to collect herself but it doesn’t take long before she continues, “It’s just, have you ever wanted to just…I don’t know…leave?  Start over.  Like in a new place.  With new people.  New food.  New…everything.” 

Well, that’s a loaded question.  After I became a vampire, I barely kept in one place longer than a month or two.  Sometimes it was even shorter than that if the locals started getting suspicious.  And the one time Dru and I overstayed our welcome, an angry mob let us know we had.  That was the time I almost lost her.  Well, until I truly had lost her for good. 

And now here in Sunnyhell, I went from the top of the food chain to some sort of pariah.  No longer a monster, but not a man.  I’m in some sort of purgatory, a shadow of one and an animated corpse of another. 

But the Bit doesn’t need to know all that.  Doesn’t need my shite further cocking up her mind.  All she does need to know is that her mum and big sis want her here.  As do I.  And it’s my job right now to make sure she gets that, but without lecturing.  She gets enough of that.  So I’ll keep it simple. 

“Feel that way all the time, but when you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn that’s never the case.  No matter where you go, it’s impossible for everything to be all shiny and new.”  I step closer to her and tentatively reach out to touch her shoulder, but at the last minute I consider how the Slayer would react, so I pull my hand back.  “See, no matter where you go, no matter if everything around you looks different, the person in the mirror always remains the same.  Runnin’ away doesn’t change that.”

I hear her scoff, “Buffy didn’t see it that way.” 

She's got a point, but it's best not to let her think she does.  “Well, even with all the reasons why your big sis upped and scampered off, it still doesn’t make it right.  I reckon she hurt a lot of people in the process, yeah?”  I can see Dawn’s shoulders tense, so clearly I struck a nerve.  But before Dawn runs off herself, I push on, “See, that way of thinking only works for us vamps.  Come and go as we please, we do.  Never really caring about whom we’re hurtin’ or leaving behind, it doesn’t matter.  It never matters.  But that’s the rub, we don’t bleedin’ care 'bout nobody and nobody gives a damn ‘bout us in return.   Now, I know you know at least that much.  Even though you’re startin’ to sing your sister’s tune ‘bout hittin’ the road, Jack.”

“I’m not her!” Dawn spun around and takes the Slayer’s-stance—all defiance and spitfire. 

“Yeah, I know.  You’re not.” 

We just look at each other for a bit.  Well, she’s mightly pissed which isn’t good, but she hasn’t left, so that’s promising.  But while she’s still lookin’ all Bitty Buffy, it hard to tell if I’d gotten through to her.  Don’t know if I’d put it out of her head all this running away nonsense.  But I need to know for sure.  Gotta switch gears.  Need to get her to think less about why not to run, and more about why to stay.  

“So, Carmen Sandiego, where in world you’d rather hang your hat if it’s not in good ol’SunnyD?”

“It’s stupid.” 

“Try me.”

“It’s stu…” I raise my brow at her stalling, and she relents, “Fine.  When I was nine, mom and I watched some Discovery Channel show about Brazil.  It was on during the same summer that Buffy was, um, gone.  But even that didn’t matter when we were watching the show.  Right then it was just me and mom, and it was the first time she wasn’t crying or drinking or both.   And that was a good thing.  A really good thing.  So I decided I needed to keep this good thing going.  So I learned everything I could about Brazil.   For that whole summer, I ate, drank and slept Brazil.  I only spoke Portuguese, well, at least my take on it.  And every day I wore this bright neon green shirt with the Brazilian flag across the chest, and I only would eat meat on a stick, rice and beans, and lots and lots of oranges.”  I watch her eyes shine brightly as she speaks.  It’s a beautiful sight especially with everything that has happened.  That’s still happening.  Then like a flip of a switch, the spark dimmed. 

“Then the summer was over and it was time to go back to school.  Buffy wasn’t back yet, and mom was getting more and more upset, and to make matters worse, my new teacher was a wrinkly old witch.  Well, she really wasn’t really a witch, but she was really mean.  Wait.  Willow and Tara are witches but their not mean, so is it really accurate to say…” 

I interrupt the tangent she’s on before it goes even further.  I love the girl, but even love has its limits. “Bit, the point?”

“Oh yeah, well, anyways, this witch-not-witch told me that, ‘We’re not learning about Brazil, and I had my fun but now it’s over.’  That day when I got off the bus I was crying, and that made my mom super mad.  The next day she stormed into the school and talked to the principal, and got Ms. Prune-face-McKearny in trouble.  From that day on, I got to speak Portuguese in class, and I wore my flag shirt almost every day, well, on the days it wasn’t in the wash, and I ate oranges every snack time.”   

“Not surprise she did all that, you’re mum’s a helluva lady.”   

“Yeah, yeah she is.”  I can see the tears start to form in her big blue eyes.  “She is… especially since she never gave me oranges for snack or tried to learn my Portuguese, or even put my chicken nuggets on sticks.  ‘Cause I was never nine, or eight, or even seven.  I was never real at all.  All I am is some stupid key, and all these memories are made up by some monks, and she’s not really my mom.”

I watch the tears fall harder and harder, and it rips me to shreds.  This time I don’t think about how the Slayer would react as I pull Dawn into my arms and let her cry it out.

“There, there, sweet bit, it doesn’t matter how you came to her, you’re her daughter and she loves you.”  I feel her tears seep through my shirt and I tenderly run my fingers through her hair.  When her crying slows and she seems to be calming, I decide to try and chase away her worries.  Even though this isn't resolved, not by a long shot, I can try to get her to forget 'bout this.  Even if it’s for a little while. 

“Now, don’t know ‘bout you, but after that littl’ heart-to-heart ‘m feelin’ kinda peckish.  I know this quaint Brazilian steakhouse down the ways a bit, could go for some _muito bom churrasco_ , yeah?   Just me, you, and my girl, how’s that sound?  Not exactly a road trip to Brazil...” 

Dawn wipes away her lingering tears and gives me a soft smile.  “Yeah, sounds good.”

Her smile warms me, and ‘m glad vamps can’t blush.  Still got the rep of Big Bad to protect and all.

“Okay, Bit, you’re chariot and _churrasco_ await.  _Vamos lá_!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carmen Sandiego: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carmen_Sandiego_(character)
> 
> muito bom: Portuguese for ‘really good’
> 
> churrasco grilled meat on a stick https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Churrasco
> 
> Vamos lá.” Portuguese for ‘Let’s go’ 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by solstice’s “Wild and Wonderful”. If you haven’t read it yet, you’re missing something wonderful! 
> 
> Please take a brief moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you! And don't forget to check out the two other stories I'm currently updating: "Idle Hands" and "Origin". Thank you again!


	7. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

_Fall, 2001-LA_

 

"Forgive me.” 

I run my hands down my girl’s side—partly to give her comfort, partly to selfishly keep some comfort of my own. 

I’ve battled with this decision for weeks.  But what finally sealed our fate was when Buffy showed up at my crypt and shared her tales of woe with me over several bottles of gut-rot. 

This has to be done.

“Sweetheart, please understand.  You know if there was any other way…there’s only so many poker games and so many demons I can swindle their purses from, and even with Teeth frontin’ that dosh, it’s still not enough.”   

I can feel her anger boiling just under the icy surface of her silence.  I know I’d promised never to take advantage of her again.  Never mind how I’m now adding insult to this injury by forsaking her for another woman.  But desperate times calls for desperate measures.  And ‘m as desperate as one comes. 

“You’ve met her once, remember?”  I can hear my girl scoff a reply.  “Yeah, the haughty, blonde bitch, that’s her.   That’s Buffy.  Well, she and the Bit are in a spot of trouble.  Seems when Buffy was, um, gone, nobody, well, nobody with a lick of sense, was there to mind the roost and take up the responsibilities.  So bills piled up, things got neglected.  Hell, ‘m to blame too, thinkin’ Red was keeping house instead of just playin’ at it.  And now she’s back.  Buffy’s back and as always, she’s trying to pick up the pieces.  Right the wrongs.” 

My hands never stop moving.  I keep touching my girl, trying to memorize every curve, every contour of her body, inside and out.  This is our last time together and I feel like I’m dying all over again.

“I can’t let her do this alone.  Yeah, I know she’s that one girl in all the world, but this fight isn’t about monsters or her calling.  It’s ‘bout utilities and copper re-pipe, and keeping them fed.  And she deserves so much more than this.  She’s fought to save the world a hundred times over—she’s died and was brought back, twice, and she’s lost her mum, and yet she’s still fighting for this hunk of rock we live on to keep on spinning.  For the masses to live their lives none the wiser of what goes bump in the night.  And she’s fought for those closest to her, even while they dictated her life and leeched off her strength.  And for what?  When she was finally pardoned from all those years of violence and death, the same people who claimed they loved her, ripped her from her just reward, and left her to crawl her way out of a grave marked with a soddin’ six word epitaph telling the world how she saved it, but never saying a bloody thing ‘bout how amazing she was.”  The deep breath I finally take shudders in my chest as I correct myself, “ _Is_.  How amazing she _is_.  It’s not bloody right.”

I notice my hands are tight around my girl and I loosen them, before gently brushing over the areas in silent apology.

“If there was any other way, I would do it, you know I would.  I’d rather greet the sun then do this to you, to _us_ , but what choice do I have?”  I feel the tears running down my face, but I don’t brush them away.  I find honor in my grief and guilt.  It touches the human side of me that the demon has shoved aside long ago.    

We sit in silence for some time, then I feel it.  I feel that distinctive pull on my unbeating heart.  It’s my girl and she’s giving me the most precious gift I will ever receive, her permission for me to let go.

“Thank you.”  I run my hand down her side once more and with a deep breath, I step out and away from her for the last time.

I don’t, I can’t look back as I walk towards Clem’s cousin and hand him the keys. “Take real good care of her.”

“No worries, I always do.”  His fleshy jowls frame the jagged-fanged smile he gives me as he hands me the money.

I start to walk off the used car lot as my mantra ‘Don’t look back…Don’t look back…’ loops over and over in my mind.  It's working double time against the draw for me to return to her.  This is hell.  My hell.  And with this single act, my girl has forgone my four seeds of pomegranate and allowed me freedom from her.  If one could call this heartache being set free.

One more time, I allow myself to turn back to look upon her.  “You’ll always be my best girl.” 

With this, I round the corner and take my leave from her.  Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to leave your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a brief moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you.


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